


the future's architectured

by oryx



Category: GARO (TV), GARO: Yami o Terasu Mono
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 15:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10363230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: Rian makes the most of an unused gift.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for day 1 of toku ladies week 2017

This city is new to them. The streets are winding and roundabout, built atop steep slopes and hills, old buildings of faded brick with colorful awnings jumbled like errant puzzle pieces in between sleek, towering office complexes. She doesn’t know it well enough yet to walk its streets with confidence, much less to find wellsprings of malevolence unaided, and she asks Ryuga offhand to fetch her compass from her bag while she frowns at the tattered map in her hands.  
   
When he is silent for a long time, she turns back to look at him. He’s got something between his fingers that is decidedly not her compass, holding the bottle by its neck and observing the way the sun refracts through the crystal clear liquid inside.  
   
“I wonder why D. Ringo gave this to us,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “The Reverter of Time? That’s what it was called, right? We didn’t have any use for it, during that battle.”  
   
Rian shrugs a shoulder. “Who knows,” she says airily. “It’s D. Ringo, after all.”  
   
And yet hours later his questions are still echoing in the corner of her mind. She sits in the window of the quiet inn where they’ve taken a room, fingers drumming a rhythm against her thigh, staring out at the light-speckled cityscape with curiosity overwhelming her. She takes her brush from her belt and weaves together a creature made of brush strokes, a small bird that hops on to her finger and stares at her inquisitively with its ink blot eyes.  
   
“To D. Ringo,” she instructs it. “Ask him why he gave us _that_.”  
   
It nods its head before flying away.  
   
The response comes the next morning, the little bird landing directly on the gingham blanket of her bed as she’s stretching the stiffness from her neck.  
   
“You know why,” it chirps, before vanishing in a puff of black smoke.  
   
She closes her eyes again and falls back against the pillow with a huff, a hollow ache forming in her chest. Getting a little drunk that one evening and confiding in D. Ringo about her personal problems was either the best or worst decision she’s ever made.  
   
She hasn’t quite decided which, yet.  
   
  
   
  
   
The laws of a Time Reverter are simple, in the end. One must not use it for personal gain. One must be aware of the potential consequences, sometimes much more far-reaching than intended, before altering the course of history in any way. And above all else, one must have a clear image in their mind of the time they wish to revert to. If the memory is hazy, or muddled by dishonesty, then the result could be disastrous – she heard once of a Priest who was scattered across all of time itself, existing like a ghostly fragment in every moment they had ever lived or would live (and yet also in no time at all).  
   
Simple but stressful as hell, she thinks, eyes narrowed as she stares down at the elegant glass bottle on the table in front of her. Does this count as personal gain, this trip she’s about to take? Is someone from the Tribune going to show up and arrest her for time-related crimes as soon as she gets back? Drag her away and lock her up in the Senate’s dungeon prison along with all the traitors and the murderers?  
   
“Worth it,” she whispers, as she thinks very hard of that dingy bar on the south side of Vol City.  
   
As she uncorks the stopper of the Time Reverter and tosses back a shot that tastes like liquid lightning.  
   
  
   
  
   
The first thing she sees is her own reflection staring back at her in the cracked mirror. ( _I look so much younger_ , is her immediate thought, but it was only a year and half ago, wasn’t it?) The outfit, the loose hair, the glossy shade of lipstick all match her memory, as does the graffiti scribbled on the bathroom wall, the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. Through the door she can hear the muffled sound of voices and laughter, the sudden smash of breaking glass as someone drops a bottle.  
   
It really worked, she thinks, touching a hand to her face and taking a deep, steadying breath. She’s back.  
   
It’s an odd feeling, emerging from the restroom into the quiet thrum of the bar. She’s gone over the original memory enough times in her mind that each footstep, each breath feels off now that she’s returned to it, a little too quick or a little too slow. She sidesteps a man who’s maybe had one too many, drawing closer to her empty seat, and –  
   
Enhou turns to greet her, her mouth curving into a faint smile.  
   
“Got you another drink,” she says, sliding the glass across the table. A Blue Lagoon with two cherries, just like she always used to order it.  
   
Rian feels like someone just ran her through with a jagged knife.  
   
Enhou examines her appraisingly for a moment before arching an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  
   
It takes Rian a minute to be able to respond. With some difficulty, she shakes her head. “It’s nothing,” she says, voice wavering only slightly, forcing herself to smile as she takes her seat. “Just… got a call from my ex a minute ago,” she lies. “…Are you any good at giving advice?”  
   
Enhou laughs. A strand of hair falls forward to brush her cheek, and Rian’s fingers twitch under the table, trying to resist the urge to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear. She can’t do that. Not yet. As soon as she touches her, this whole thing will begin to unravel. Somehow she knows this instinctively.  
   
“What, you mean like ‘girl talk’?” Enhou says. “Can’t say I’ve ever been particularly skilled at that. But you can try me anyhow.”  
   
Rian sips at her drink to steady herself. (Too sweet. Was it always this cloyingly sweet? She finds herself wishing, in this moment, for something, anything with more of a bite to it.)  
   
“There’s someone I can’t forget,” she says finally. “We didn’t know each other all that long, really, but. I’d never met anyone like them before, you know? They were different. They were – ”  
   
She breaks off, the words splintering in her mouth, feeling Enhou’s piercing eyes trained on her face.  
   
“They made me feel like an ordinary person,” she soldiers on. “Which maybe doesn’t sound all that romantic, I guess.” A quiet laugh. “But that’s what I’d always wanted.”  
   
Enhou is nodding, contemplative, the ice in her glass clinking as she swirls it around and around. “So? How did it all go south?”  
   
For a beat, Rian is silent.  
   
“They changed,” she says. “It wasn’t really their fault, in the end. But they did. Until they weren’t someone I recognized anymore. But I’m still stuck.” Here she can feel herself smile in a way that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I can’t forget who they were before. I can’t move on, even though… even though there’s someone else in front of me I should be able to love instead. Do you think I’m an idiot?”  
   
Enhou hums thoughtfully. “Maybe you are,” she says. “But so are most people, when it comes to things like that.”  
   
  
   
  
   
They’re among the last ones in the bar. Rian remembers this, too. Remembers how it felt to charm the barkeep into a complimentary bottle of cheap whiskey and pass it back and forth between them, skin pleasantly warm where their shoulders pressed together.  
   
What she doesn’t remember is the sensation of being stretched thin, of her body feeling insubstantial, like a rope pulled taut and beginning to fray. Her time in the Reversion must almost be up. She takes a deep breath and sets the whiskey bottle down on the floor next to her with a _thunk_ of finality.  
   
“Enhou,” she says. “You need to stay away from Kaneshiro Tousei.”  
   
Enhou turns her head to stare at her, all of her humor vanished in an instant. “Where’s this coming from?”  
   
“He’s behind it all. Just about everything going wrong in this city… it’s his doing. He’ll hurt you, too, if you aren’t careful. He’ll do something terrible to you and you won’t even notice until it’s too late.”  
   
Enhou’s face remains carefully impassive. “That’s a pretty serious allegation. He’s an acquaintance of mine, you know.”  
   
“I know.” Rian reaches out haltingly to take her hand in her own, feeling Enhou’s calloused palm beneath her fingertips. “But you have to believe me. A few minutes from now, I’m going outside to make a call. When I come back I’m going to seem different. I’m probably not going to remember this conversation. But it’s all real, what I’m telling you now. It’s all true.”  
   
Enhou observes her through narrowed eyes for a moment before abruptly rearranging herself, shuffling over to sit in front of Rian, their knees touching. She has none of Rian’s hesitation as she lifts a hand to her neck, fingers sliding back to curl around her nape, tugging her closer until their foreheads are almost brushing, until there is nothing Rian can do but meet her gaze head-on.  
   
“What exactly is going on here?” she demands. There’s a thin scar along her hairline, faded and white, that Rian has never seen before – never been close enough to see before.  
   
Rian shakes her head with a faint, sad smile. “It’s too much to explain now. I’m sorry. I’m asking a lot of you, I know. And… I’m gonna have to ask a little more. There’s a condemned apartment complex on Yarrow Street. You won’t be able to find it unless you’re looking for it. And you won’t be able to get inside unless you have a key.” She procures her brush from her pocket in an instant; taken aback, Enhou releases her hold on her neck and pulls back enough to assess this new development. Rian gives her a moment to process before lifting her brush and weaving together a high-strength sigil of entrance, which sinks into the back of Enhou’s hand and glows there in iridescent shades before vanishing.  
   
“That should get you in. If I’m not there and the people there give you any trouble, just give them my name. Tell them about Kaneshiro Tousei. The fact that you’re able to get past Burai’s barriers should be enough for them to believe you.”  
   
Enhou blinks down at the back of her hand, flexing her fingers experimentally, then lifts her eyes to once again meet Rian’s. “You know,” she says slowly, “when we met I thought you weren’t like other women. That you were something special. This is a strange way to be right.”  
   
Despite it all, Rian laughs – a sharp, genuine sound that seems to stem from the warmth in her chest.  
   
“I have to go make a call,” she says, and it takes everything in her power to get to her feet and turn her back on Enhou as she walks to the door.  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
She returns to the present in pieces, it seems.  
   
First her consciousness, then her body, then her senses, one by one, like limbs that have gone numb suddenly coming alive again.  
   
The feeling of sunlight against her face and the sound of water tell her long before she opens her eyes that she isn’t sitting at that table at the inn anymore.  
   
It’s a park she recognizes, she thinks upon glancing around. She’s walked down this exact tree-lined path before with Ryuga. The fountain in the center of the nearby plaza is familiar, with a relief pattern of ivy and vines around its base, the marble goddess statue in its center carved with intricate details.  
   
Vol City. It’s like she never left.  
   
And maybe she hasn’t, because there are new memories in her mind, now, memories of the four of them at their crossroads: of Takeru grinning at Ryuga, saying “I’ll stick with you for a while, wherever you’re headed,” of Aguri looking at her inquisitively, of her own voice saying “I think I’ll stay here, actually” –  
   
“Rian.”  
   
She turns to find Enhou watching her. Her clothes are casual – thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her jeans. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a neat French braid. Rian remembers styling it herself, humming as she combed the soft strands through her fingers, Enhou sitting between her knees and patiently allowing it.  
   
Enhou raises an eyebrow. “Are you fading out on me? You were the one who wanted to go out today, weren’t you?”  
   
Rian remembers kissing her. Soft, the first time, more a sigh of relief than a kiss, after Tousei was gone and the city was saved from possible oblivion and Enhou had told her about breaking it off with that boyfriend of hers. Aggressive the next time, after two weeks went by without seeing each other during the hectic fall of the Kaneshiro family, stealing a moment behind the SG1 guardhouse, Enhou pressing her up against the wall with a kind of needy desperation.  
   
And all the times after that. She remembers each one. Waking up next to her, too. How she has another scar, newer and far more vicious than the one on her temple, curving down the length of her thigh from an accident in basic training. How she always sleeps with one hand beneath her pillow even when there is no weapon there to hold.  
   
A sound halfway between a laugh and a sob is threatening to wrench its way out of Rian’s throat.  
   
“This really ought to count as ‘personal gain,’” she manages to say.  
   
(Maybe the laws of time travel are less simple than they claim.)


End file.
